


and i found it there (in your heart)

by stellarisms



Category: Free!
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarisms/pseuds/stellarisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way Makoto sputters, removes and detaches himself, tosses out frantic deflections like rainwater, anyone would have thought he didn’t want to. </p><p>But Haruka knows him far better than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i found it there (in your heart)

For Haruka, counting the many reasons he loves Makoto is as impossible as counting the number of drops of water make up the ocean.

And he’s tried, many a time before, to do just that.

Submerged, the water’s embrace cradles him.  No matter how much Haruka longs for the idealism of his younger years, the desire to swim competitively a distant memory now, he still feels a kinship with water like nothing else.

He feels safe there, beneath the surface, permeating with the slow rock of the waves bending to his arms and legs and strength of will. 

He feels safe there, beneath the surface, knowing water is malleable (like him), taking different forms depending on the surroundings and temperature.

He feels safe there — in the water.

But he feels safest whenever and wherever Makoto’s nearest to him.

 

* * *

 

High school gets put on a pedestal for being the time of one’s life, but Haruka has no immediate dreams for the future, let alone dreams that involve swimming.

When his teachers ask, he gives noncommittal explanations for why he hasn’t filled out his Future Plans Form, the weight of it heavy in his shoulder bag and heavier in chest.

When Nagisa asks why he lied (knowing, as the youngest of them was naught to take notice of momentary details and was far more observant than most gave him credit for), he tells the breaststroke swimmer to mind his own business.

When Makoto’s nearby, everything that holds him down feels less burdened, the skies brighter, the air lighter, the weightless passion in his heart _freer_.

 

* * *

 

Haruka’s not sure when it began, when the shift in the tides led him to becoming all the more conscious of his childhood friend. 

But it’s even stranger how the restless waters settle down just as soon as he realizes, on the long walk back home at dusk, he may very well have known it all along.

Makoto, who’s always at close proximity. 

Makoto, who carries tissues in one pocket and a sandwich bagful of cat food in the other. 

Makoto, who laughs nervously when he’s upset enough to borderline tears — though but only Haruka knows, from a single glance at seafoam green wavering, when that impending breaking point is — who worries about insignificant and trifling things when he ought to be more worried about himself.

Makoto, who looks downright terrified when Haruka takes a step forward, a step toward the taller boy still standing in the middle of the genkan, as many steps as it takes until he can _feel_ the way Makoto trembles as he hesitates, reaches out, and then at last laces Haruka’s fingers already pressed in his palm.

Makoto, who seems as anxious as Haruka knows his own trepidation must be, ever so careful as his other hand reaches out to thread through the dark strands of Haruka’s hair, impossibly gentle, as though the sheer want in his eyes and the constant longing looks were lost on Haruka all this time.

Makoto, who he knows, _knows_ , can never deny him anything, never denies him anything less than the best because he cares — cares in that senseless and terribly selfless and _you don’t need to second-guess this, stupid, don’t doubt yourself anymore than you already do, because you deserve this, i’m the one who doesn’t deserve **you**_ — and Haruka has always, always known as much.

 

* * *

 

(“Makoto,” the name more intimate than its ever been, the back of his neck warm to the touch as he pulls down until their foreheads rest against one another’s and he’s smiling, wan but genuine, for the first time in weeks, “if you don’t kiss me, I’m doing it first.”

The way Makoto sputters, removes and detaches himself, tosses out frantic deflections like rainwater, anyone would have thought he didn’t want to. 

But Haruka knows him,  _knows_ him, far better than that.)

 

* * *

 

So he pulls him down by the tie, pushes him right into the shoe cabinets, traces the slammed shut seam of the brunet’s mouth with the blunt of his teeth until Makoto — lax for all but fourteen of the longest seconds of Haruka’s life — allows his lips to part and for the shorter boy to breathe him in like that last gulp of oxygen before he dives underwater.

And Makoto always gives as good as he’s given. 

He learns quick, hands-on and instinctual in the process of swim lessons and practical knowledge, so Haruka’s unsurprised when Makoto starts to figure it out and finally kiss back. 

He’s adamant, too, the flat of his tongue moist against his and the press of large hands a steady anchoring grip on the sides of his face and his shoulders and his spine arching into the abrupt grinding cant of the other’s hips and—

Oh, _oh_ , Haruka all but sighs and clings to the broad expanse of Makoto’s back as he nudges a knee between Makoto’s thighs and tries to gain better leverage because, well, maybe he did ask for it but Haruka thinks he must be drowning, must be hallucinating, because this is far too realistic a dream to have imagined up otherwise—

"Haru," pants Makoto in what sounds more like a whine as they pull apart, centimeters apart but still leaning back in for languid pecks and eager tugs at the corners of swollen lips, and he’s so close, so close that Haruka’s sure he’s dreamed this all up, that he must be seconds from plummeting down into the dark depths where no one can find him and that’s perfectly fine if he gets to drown like this with Makoto right here with him, " _Haru._ ”

(He must be drowning, Haruka remembers thinking the moment before he surges forward to kiss Makoto again, because the way their hands stay entwined from then on like they can’t bear to be separated is as natural as the water on his skin — except nothing else except Makoto’s arms have made him feel this much at home.)

 


End file.
